


and it felt like a kiss

by byronicmaiden



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Battered wife syndrome, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, SPOILERS FOR THE LAST JEDI, blame this on all the law and order svu i watch, god i love making myself uncomfortable and sad, the implied reylo is literally only one sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 15:25:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: he hit me—//Some thoughts on Kylo Ren and his Master.





	and it felt like a kiss

**Author's Note:**

> title is from he hit me (and it felt like a kiss) by the crystals.

_Get on your knees._

Snoke had a lot of rules. Always look respectable, keep your hair neat, wear presentable clothing. Never talk back, never argue, never speak out of turn. Always keep the door unlocked. Never address him by his name, only _Supreme Leader_ or _Master_ or _Sir_ , and in return, he'd never call Kylo by his old name, except when he did. But that was different.

He spent so much time kneeling before his master, staring down at the floor, too ashamed to look up. Tears welled under his mask, the mask Snoke hated. When he made him take it off, he grabbed him by the chin, backhanded him hard. He blamed his parents, his useless parents, for every bit of pain he received. They deserved to worry about him, to wonder every second of the day if he was alive or dead. Every amount of pressure they felt was placed on him, their only child. He wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, he wasn’t allowed to ever leave, because he was their one shot, their only offspring, he had to be perfect. _Remember, you are Ben Solo, so don’t fuck up!_ They were the ones who decided they couldn't deal with him, so they shipped him away like some piece of cargo, like a fucking pet they decided to return to the shelter after it tore up their sofa, _sorry, we were hoping for a better kid!_ They sold him to the darkness like a damn child bride. When he fled the temple, they never even looked for him.

Once, a medical droid had to be sent up to his room for serious injuries twice in one month. It often visited for the routinely inspections he hated, the scraping and prodding and swabbing, the inspections he was supposed to have after every training session. Snoke had fractured two of his ribs, pushing down harder and harder against his chest until his vision went blurry. He forgave the cruelty, it was the only way for him to reach his full potential, it was how all the fabled Sith trained. When he talked back, he got a slap in the face, and when he tried to leave, Snoke slammed his head against the wall, hard. Ten solid seconds of ringing, all sound faded and muffled. The whole room shook and spun, a haze of black clouding his vision. He reached out for Snoke’s hand; he just snatched it away. He wanted once, just once, for his master to be kind. To just once comfort him and love him. Just for a moment.

He got injured less as he got older, as he grew tougher. He didn't need medical treatment anymore, and he certainly didn't need post-practice exams either. He hated feeling like a victim, like a bird smashed to bloody bits, because he wasn't; he hated the paranoia that only grew and grew, the thoughts that the entire Order was looking at him like some pitiful child. A pathetic sob story of fatherly brutality, of religious violence, of promises of greatness and glory, of threats and blood and apologies the next day.

It was hard to remember the first time Snoke hurt him, but he remembered the feeling. It had been so shocking, the stinging pain from his master, the only person who ever loved him. After that, it was routine, a punishment for disobeying his masters rules. Usually Snoke didn't even bother to physically dole it out; it was the Force that slammed him against the floor or pressed against his windpipe. There were times when Snoke looked at him, he actually felt fear. He actually feared for his life, the way he looked at him with such disgust, like some disposable object, something to be tossed aside once he was all used up, something to be thrown in a junkyard and left to rot.

Even now that his master was dead, run through with the weapon that killed poor little Ben Solo, he heard him whisper to him through the Force, a haunting phantom command still lingering in his mind like a stain. Stained. That was how he felt, like he should be able to cut open his chest and pull the rot out, like enough water would rinse off the filth, the stink, the ruin. He was cruel and ungrateful, he betrayed his master for absolutely nothing, he regretted it the moment Rey left. Stupid Ren, stupid, pathetic, hysteric, crazy, girlish Ren.

Some dark part of his child-soul missed being hit and held down; it was one of the only constants in his life, something he could always count on. At times, knuckles against his cheek or a foot prodding into his ribs felt like gentle, almost romantic sentiments.

_Do not raise your voice at me, you ungrateful child. If you weren't so useless, I wouldn't have to do this. Don't you dare try and run away from me. Get on your knees. Get on your knees and stay there._

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just have to give into your intrusive thoughts and write all that disgusting shit you’ve been thinking about nonstop since tfa just bc you love to make yourself uncomfortable bc you’re a fucking idiot.


End file.
